I Wasn´t Ready
by nocturnal08
Summary: The boys try to deal with losing their father. Collection of one shots, tags and flashbacks. Added: Dean and his dark reflections and memories from between All Hell Breaks Loose I
1. I wasn´t ready

_Disclaimer: The characters don´t belong to me, but in the spirit of sharing... _

Just a little blurb inspired by_ In My Time of Dying_

** I WASN´T READY**

Sam took off after the boys checked into the hotel, mumbling something about needing to stretch his legs. Dean waited a bit, trying to reassure himself that this time Sam would come back on his own. It not, Dean would go after him, like he always did and bring the boy home. Sam knew it as well and took comfort in the idea that Dean, at least, would never abandon him.

Sam covered a lot of ground, his long legs moving quickly, his muscles strong despite the time spent cooped up in the hospital. It wasn't that he was really going anywhere, just walking to try to shake the numbness. He followed a pathetic gravel path along a stream that hardly deserved the name. To his right the traffic whizzed by. It didn't matter to Sam, who had never been much of a return to nature kinda kid and besides he hardly paid his surroundings any mind. He sunk into himself. The trauma of the past couple of months bowled him over and he felt more lost than ever.

He was a veritable orphan now, though it wasn't the first time he had learned to live without his father's indomitable presence. _It's not the same!_ he inwardly screamed. _DAMMIT Dad, why couldn't you ever wait until I was ready? _

It was like when he had taught Sam how to swim, pushing the shocked five year old into an ice cold lake. Sam had panicked, letting out his breath in one silent yell, and sunk like a rock. Swallowing a mouthful of water, he had hit the bottom of the lake hard. It took two tries for Sam to panic his way to the surface, yelling for Dean. His brother took a step forward, but John had placed a restraining hand on the boy's shoulder, so Dean just yelled encouragement from the dock. Sam went under again twice, each time managing to keep closer to the surface, before John allowed Dean to fish the exhausted boy out of the lake.

Sam scrambled up, choking and afraid. Dean tried to soothe him, rubbing the ratty beach towel over his shivering bare shoulders. He and John murmured their approval, but John´s proud smile faltered when he caught a glimpse of his youngest's face. Little Sam glared, shaking with a combination of anger, exhaustion and cold. Okay, it was mainly anger. He jerked back when John reached out to steady him. "DON´T TOUCH ME," he screamed, deadly serious.

"Sam," John started, but the five year old didn't let him finish, he slipped past his father, breaking into a run when an angry "HEY! Don't you walk away from me!" followed him down the dock.

John watched, jaw slack with shock. "What's wrong with him?" He demanded of his older son.

Dean looked back evenly before he responded. "You threw him in a lake," said the older boy coldly.

John's eyes narrowed at the implied rebuke. "Excuse me?" He demanded, temper rising, "You have something you want to say to me?"

The nine-year-old held his gaze a moment, showing unexpected defiance. John took a threatening step towards him, causing Dean to beat a hasty retreat. "No, sir," he conceded.

"Good," John snapped. "Now, go tell you brother to get his behind in the car. We're heading out."

"Yes, sir," Dean sighed, taking off quickly after Sam.

He found him, curled up in a small cove between the roots of an old tree and a great big rock. "Sammy?" He called. When the boy didn't answer, Dean slipped in beside him.

"Go away," Sam had insisted, squirming away. "You're too big. You don't fit."

"Look who's talking" teased the older brother, pinching the baby fat in Sam's cheek.

"Don't!" Yelled Sam, smacking the hand away.

"Okay, okay," Dean laughed.

Sam's defensive glare gradually softened. "Dean?" He asked, "Did Dad do that to you too?"

Dean swallowed hard. "Yep." After a pause he added, "it kinda sucks."

Sam nodded in agreement, turning to climb up the rock into the sunshine. "I wasn't _ready_!" He whined.

When Dean didn't respond, apparently not having an answer to that. Sam asked with a sigh "Is Dad mad at me?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "What do you think?"

"Yes."

"Ding, ding, ding!"

"Shut up."

"Let's go, buddy." Sam didn't move. "…unless you _want _to get spanked."

Sam exhaled in annoyance. "Fine," he responded, scrambling down the side of rock wearing his towel like a cape.

_Good times_, Sam thought, bitterly. Wasn't there _ever_ a time when he and his father had gotten along? _I really can't deal with this. _

_Even in death, Dad's still pushing_, Sam thought, wiping an icy tear from his eye. _Like when he taught me how to drive, or that damn bow-hunting lesson. _Dad never explained, just expected Sam to be some kind of freaking _psychic_. Yeah, that was a little ironic now, but thinking back on the million disagreements, it just didn't add up to anything healthy. _I always thought that we would figure it out_, _you know_, Sam thought to himself. More than anything he wanted to talk it out with Jess, but she was gone too.

They're all gone. Mom, Jess, Jim, Caleb, and Dad. The litany was now familiar and so was the wave of guilt that swept over him. It was all his fault! It was his _responsibility_. The job that he had never wanted, that he had tried to run away from. _Like a coward_, he thought bitterly. Now he was committed, but he didn't know how to make it stop, barely knew how to put one foot in front of the other. _Wouldn't Dad be proud? _Sam thought, filled with self loathing.

Rain began to fall, plastering Sam's hair to the side of his head and drenching his thin jacket. Sam hunched stubbornly against it, but conceded to take shelter under a large tree. He knew that Dean would worry, that he should go back, but couldn't bring himself to move in that direction.

"Dad, I'm SORRY." He gulped out, bawling at the wind.

_You're always sorry, _he heard the bitter voice in his head. Was it his dad? Sam knew that it was just an echo, wanted to believe it was more. There would be no more fights, now, because there was no one to fight with. Sam, stubborn as he was, had missed his chance. _I wasn't ready!_ Was all Sam could think.

"I wasn´t ready," he whispered.


	2. Too Close

_Disclaimer: The characters don´t belong to me, but in the spirit of sharing... _

Reflections after_ Bloodlust_

**TOO CLOSE**

Sam didn't talk much in the car, staring out the window at cornfields. Iowa, with all the memories that came with it. For a moment, Sam thought about Rosie and Monica. Wondered if they were still okay, wondered for the millionth time about the connection between himself and that little girl. Had they averted her disaster? Sam hoped so, it gave him a little hope to think that in twenty-two years, that little girl wouldn't be wandering, so broken. _Yeah, Dad, that much I can understand_, he thought, with a ghost of a smile playing across his lips. _I wouldn't wish our kind of hell on anyone._

Dean caught the smile, but didn't ask. Talking really wasn't something he was up for at this point and anyway, it never came out the way he intended. Sam's darkening bruise was proof enough of that. The memory of his hurt look and plea _why are you saying this to me? _was also pretty fresh. _Jeez, buddy, I didn't mean to hurt you_, he thought guiltily. And he couldn't help the thought that followed, _Dad's going to be so pissed. _

Nobody hits my kids, except me. Yep, there was a red neck twang in that rule, but it was one that John Winchester lived, or _had lived_, by. And Dean hadn't usually had a problem with it. Sam could be a pain in the ass, that much was abundantly clear, but Dean was bigger, well older anyway, and stronger. That meant he was supposed to take care of Sam, protect him. Things were definitely screwed up if Dean was the one that Sam needed to be protected from.

They kept picking at each other, rubbing too raw. They were fighting not just the external evil, but the grappling with the new darkness inside them. You didn't grow up the way they had without it changing you and you would be a damn fool to ignore the signs. Too many casualties already and no guarantee that they would make it through with their lives or their sanity. _You boys are smack in the middle of it. _It wasn't a good place to be and Dean couldn't help thinking that it was shitty time for their commander to give up the fight. He had his orders, though, and for the first time he was starting to question them. The thing was, he couldn't tell Sam that, not with the kid's born again enthusiasm and the fact that what he had to say would scare the shit out of them both.

The brothers were just too close. They knew each other too well, kept tearing down the defenses before they were half built. They were too hurt to do anything but limp along.

There were a lot of things that Sam wanted to take back._ You don't want to go there_, he tried to caution himself. A little bitter truth could be a lot to swallow. _Too little too late, _came the cruel echo. Sam gritted his teeth against that little gem. Yep, that hurt a lot. Dean knew, had done it on purpose. Sam could understand the impulse, felt it himself whenever Dean seemed to be doing a little better, seemed to be finding his way out of the darkness just a little ahead of him.

Something in him wanted to keep them here, where at least they were together. What was it he had said to Dad? "We're not different. Not anymore. With what happened to Mom and Jess….we probably have a lot more in common than just about anyone." There had been a comfort in that, at least. And here he was again, "not all right. Not at all. But neither are you. That much I know." Oh, look, I found a common denominator, Sam thought with bitter sarcasm. _Everyone you love is dead, will die, because of you. _

Suck it up, he ordered, ´cause it's your fault you're feeling like this and it's your fault Dean is going through this now. Don't be a selfish fuck for once in your life. And so he sat, silently, staring at the road. And when Dean picked out a job, they went. And when he dreamed, dark and terrible dreams, he didn't reach out for his brother. ´Cause that's what Dad would have wanted. _Time to grow up, Sammy. Time to do your job. _


	3. Talking

_Disclaimer: The characters don´t belong to me, but in the spirit of sharing... _

_Tag! Children Shouldn´t Play With Dead Things. _Because if THAT was their talk, then it was pathetic...

**TALKING**

"I was dead and I should have stayed dead. So tell me, what could you possibly say to make that all right..."

Sam didn't say anything for a minute, didn't even look at him. Dean stood there, frozen, anger and fear making his blood run cold. He hadn't meant for it to come out so bitter, so cruel. But it was the truth. Dammit. _It was the truth_. The silence made him squirm and he could hear his heart thumping, felt closed in even though they were the only ones around_. Sammy can´t handle it_, he thought in panic, _I knew I shouldn't said anything_.

He was about to shrug it off. _Just forget it... _was halfway to his lips when Sam finally spoke, a sardonic smile playing across his face. "Yeah, I guess you're right, Dean." He still didn´t look at him, "what do I know about feeling guilty?" Dean snorted angrily, but Sam just pushed on with the same infuriatingly calm, "About wishing that it had been _me _instead of..."

"It´s not the same, Sam. This isn't natural."

"Oh." Sam said, nodding. "Oh, I get it. You´re right. This isn't _normal_, like, you know, your everyday chasing demons, exorcism, zombie-hunting _normal_. I mean, it's never_ been in the family like this, _right?" Sam fixed his steady gaze on his brother, forcing him to remember every detail of the past year, every freaky vision.

"This is different," Dean repeated stubbornly, looking away.

"Yeah, you´re right." Sam said, lighter, smiling a little more sympathetically, "this time it´s happening to _you._"

Dean gave the horizon a broody glare. "Yeah, well, I don´t know if I can handle it," he said after a while, "I can´t live like this."

Sam gave the highway a contemplative look and rubbed his toe into the gravel and nudging a few stones off the side of the road. "It was Dad´s choice, Dean. That´s how much he loved you." He thought for a moment before he continued rawly, "that´s how much he loved_ us._"

"What?" Dean´s voice was angry, not liking what he was hearing. "Sammy, WHAT do you mean?" Dean demanded when Sam didn't answer right away.

"Do you think.." Sam answered, voice shaking with emotion, "Do you think that I could do this without you? Fuck, Dean, I´m not _like _you. Dad knew that," Sam looked down, a few tears falling. "I wouldn't last two days without you. Don´t think Dad didn't know that."

"Sammy--"

"No, Dean. It´s true. You _are _the son that Dad always wanted. You always have been. And now you´re.." he drew a shaky breath, smiling through the tears at his brother, and shaking his head in exasperation, "you´re _surprised _that he offered... whatever it is he offered... for you?"

Dean didn't know what to say, but couldn't help remembering his father´s last words.

"The difference is," Sam continued, unaware, "_you've _earned it. Hell, you've more than earned it. I´m the one playing catch-up here, okay?"

Dean stuck his hands deep in his pockets, keeping his eyes fixed on some point far away. The words didn't erase his guilt, didn't make him feel any less lost, but (and it made him bitter to admit it) they did mean something to him. "One of the last things he said to me, Sammy," he said, coughing to hide his tightening throat, "was to take _care _of you."

Sam blew out half a laugh, "So, what else is new?" He said with a smile.

"But Sam," Dean said seriously, turning to face him with eyes uncharacteristically frightened. "I don´t know if I _can_."

This time the laugh was louder, barked. "Yeah, well, I´m not five anymore, Dean. I can feed myself and I don´t need bedtime stories." He paused to allow Dean to make a smart ass comment, but for once Dean was silent. "Dean, seriously, I´m committed to this thing too. I know what kind of risks there are. For GOD´S sake, would you let me worry about YOU for once."

"Psht, no." Dean retorted flippantly, sardonic smile returning, though not without melancholy.

"Whatever's after me, it's the scariest thing we've ever faced and I´m not expecting any miracles, man. But Dad left us with only thing that might work, the only chance we've got."

"Yeah, and what´s that?" Dean asked.

"He left us each other."

Dean looked at Sam, skeptically, then turned away, shrugging his shoulders and pacing a little. "It wasn't supposed to BE like this," he growled in frustration.

"Yeah, Dean, I know." Sam pulled himself up, adopting the stance his father had taken so many times, leaning against the impala, at ease but back straight and eyes sharply scanning the darkening scene. The two of them watched in silence as the sun began to set.

"You know when Jess and I were together, she used to ask about you guys," Sam said, broaching a subject he usually didn't much care to probe. Dean listened intently. "I never knew what to tell her, you know. It´s not like it´s something I could explain." The silence grew heavy, both men lost in memory.

"But once," Sam continued, "we went on a road trip for spring break, just the two of us, up to Canada. And we drove right by Caleb´s place in Salem. And so I took her in, you know, to meet him. And it was really great...she was so great. Jess won fifty bucks playing darts with him. You should have seen his face. And for, like, a minute and a half, I wished that she could meet you guys, that she could know who we really were."

Sam was startled from his rambling tale when he felt his brother´s hand squeeze his shoulder, "I wish we could've know her, Sammy," Dean offered.

"Me, too," Sam said smiling sadly.

"Though it´s probably for the best."

"hmm? why´s that?" Sam said, taking the bait.

"Well, remember Laurie Green? Polly Martin?" Dea asked, grinning widely. "Oh, yeah, and Janet Jamison!"

"Oh, you mean, _Lizzy_ Green, Polly _Nathens_ and _Jane _Jamison? MY girlfirends from the 7th, 10th and 12th grade." Sam said with a mock glare. "No, I have _no idea_ what you are referring to."

"What can I say? The ladies just can´t resist me..."

"Right," came the sarcastic reply. "Though, I swear to god, I was starting to get a complex."

"I knew the only reason you went to college was to get laid."

"Shut up," was Sam´s rejoiner, followed by a gentle punch in the arm.

Dean raised his eyebrows at the weakness of it.

Sam held up his injured hand, employing his puppy dog eyes.

"Ouch," he said, making Dean laugh.


	4. Not okay

_Disclaimer: The characters don´t belong to me, but in the spirit of sharing... _

Right after_ No Exit _

**NOT OKAY**

"We´re leaving." Dean snapped at Sam, throwing himself into the Impala. Sam glanced back uncertainly at the Road House, but shrugged off the definite cold shoulder the place was giving them and slipped in beside his brother.

"What happened?" Sam asked, as they ground down the gravel road and a few petulant raindrops hit the windshield.

"Nothing. Don´t worry about it," Dean ground out, staring moodily at the road in front of them.

"Would you stop treating me like I´m five and tell me what the hell is going on?" Sam snapped.

"Sam, just leave it."

Sam´s expression didn't soften, but Dean had apparently become immune to his little brother´s demands 'cause he just cranked up the music and they drove until the sun smoldered red in the west. The brothers grabbed some burgers and crashed in a featureless motel, as was their custom. They ignored the tension that was pulling them apart and Sam researched their next gig as Dean went to cheat some seedy locals out of their hard earned cash.

When Dean floated in at 1:57 the next morning, Sam was sleeping fitfully. His eyes flitted open in surprise. "Go back to sleep," Dean ordered and Sam complied, turning over with a groan, hiding the face that some time in the two months had lost all trace of innocence. Dean hated to see Sam like this. Defeated, accepting. Despite Sam´s all too insistent 180, Dean knew this wasn't the life that Sam wanted. And the more Dean pushed, the more Sam folded. _Don´t you dare stop fighting me, little brother, _He warned silently,_ I need you to keep me sharp, keep us sane. It's just you and me, now. _Dean double checked the locks, lay down a salt ring and folded himself into bed.

Two hours later, he heard Sam gasp awake. Despite the lingering effects of the alcohol, Dean was instantly alert. The room was still dark, but Dean instinctively knew that they were alone. As alone as they had ever been in their entire lives. The man tried to remember how to be a brother and not a Hunter, but somehow even that, which had always come so easily to Dean, now eluded him. He lay there, listening to Sam's painful silence. The younger boy stilled, going taunt as he regained full consciousness. Dean waited for summons, wondering if Sam was seeing dead people again. But Sam´s breathing slowed, becoming just a little too measured.

Half an hour later, Dean woke up again when Sam went into the bathroom to take a shower. Dean lay there, half asleep, listening to the sound of the running water. That´s when he heard it. Sobs, hardly audible above the pounding water. These weren't the sobs of baby Sammy, scared of the dark, or of four-year-old Sammy after Dad yelled at him, or five-year-old Sammy when Bobby´s old dog died, or the seven-year-old after Dad swatted his behind. They weren't the tears of the nine-year-old with a broken arm, or the angsty tears of the teenager unhappy with the world. They weren't the angry cries of the young man who had torn their family apart with his blind intensity. These were the sobs of a broken man and Dean didn't know how to make them stop.

Feeling sick and unable to stay in bed, Dean got up and went over to the door. He knocked, then tried the knob, knowing that it was locked. "You okay in there?" He called, trying to resurrect the gentleness he had once had with the boy that Sam used to be.

There was silence as Sam composed himself.

"I´m fine," came the response, in the voice so hard that Dean didn't even recognize it.

Dean nodded silently, backing away from the door. He swallowed hard and paced, helplessness making him restless.

He flipped on the light and gracefully dropped to push-up position, seeking the familiar strain on his muscles, the refuge of physical exertion. He had done twenty before Sam emerged from the bathroom, thirty before Sam had dressed, fifty before the the extra strong hotel coffee bubbled, sixty before Sam started talking about their next gig, taking Dean´s grunts for the encouragement that they were. One hundred before the sun rose.


	5. The Things I Said

_Disclaimer: The characters don´t belong to me, but in the spirit of sharing... _

VERY SAD reflections after _Crossroad Blues_

**THE THINGS I SAID**

The fist time Sam told his father to _go to hell_, he hadn't meant it. He still remembered the shocked expression on John's face, which quickly clouded with anger. The nine-year-old had stood stock still, his anger spent and the cold prickle of dread beginning to wriggle around in his stomach. _He was really going to get it._

But John didn't slap him or spank his butt, probably because he couldn't get his fist to flatten. Instead, Sam found himself sitting at the tiny hotel desk while John rummaged in his bag and pulled out a tattered, ominous-looking volume. He slammed it down on the table. Sam flinched, feeling quite small.

"Samuel," John growled and there was venom in the voice. Sam's eyes flickered up to his father's angry scowl and then quickly returned to his own fidgety hands. "Read it," John ordered, pointing to the book.

Obediently, Sam's eyes dipped to the cover. _Eternal Damnation_, it read.

"Out. Loud." John prompted.

Sam swallowed hard, wet his lips. "E..eternal Damnation," he choked weakly.

"Is that what you want for me?" John spit out, dangerously quiet.

"No, sir," Sam whispered, ashamed.

"Well, that's what you said, isn't it?" John prompted.

"I'm sorry," the young boy's voice was desperate.

"Well, that's alright then," John sneered.

"Dad, I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!" A few tears slipped from the sides of his desperate eyes. The nine-year-old quickly rubbed them away, knowing his dad wasn't a big fan of waterworks.

"Oh you were possessed, were you? The devil made you do it?"

"No, sir." _You were just being a jerk_, Sam thought bitterly, reviving a little of his previous anger to help build a defense against his father's harsh words. Sam didn't discipline easily. Even now, when he was internally squirming with the guilt of stepping over the line by disrespecting his father like that, he couldn't help rebelling against his father's disappointed, angry look.

John was in full drill sergeant mode. "YOU are responsible for what comes out of that mouth of yours. YOU better start watching that mouth or you won't be sitting down comfortably for a long time. YOU are grounded until you copy that entire book, word for word, out for me. You do training and chores and nothing else. Do you hear me, young man?"

_Of course I hear you, you're screaming in my ear, _thought Sam, but he was smart enough not to voice that particular protest and instead muttered a meek "yes, sir."

John ungraciously handed the boy a pad of paper and went back to cleaning his weapons while Sam neatly printed the title and the author of the horrid book on the top of the page. _Oh my God, there are five hundred pages here! I'm never going to be free again! _

Sam wasn't smiling at the recollection as he sat, damp and tired in the passenger seat next to his brother. The nauseating book had given him nightmares for a week, the smell of burning flesh and dead, grasping hands waking him in a cold sweat a couple of times a night. He hadn't complained to John, but the man musta sensed what was going on, 'cause he only made Sam fill two notebooks before he let him off early, with a stern warning.

He still hadn't learned, though. Two years later he had found himself in a similar argument and couldn't stop the curse from escaping his lips. That time John had slapped him, hard, across the face. And during his teenage years things just kept getting worse between them and more than once the unspoken maledictions that boiled hot and stupid through the boy's head burst forth and he had been pleased to see the hurt in John's eyes as the father took the abuse from his ungrateful, disrespectful little brat.

_God forgive me_, thought the wiser man who stared brokenly out the window, just four years later. _I didn't mean it, Dad. I swear to you, I didn't mean it. _

What had happened to that apology? The one he had promised he would deliver, to say he was sorry for all the things he said to the man who was just doing the best he could. And he never had. He couldn't keep from picking, from throwing temper tantrums. How could he have been so stupid? Now, thanks to that damn book, Sam knew exactly what John was suffering—and he didn't doubt it was true, not for a second. Sam shuddered, knowing he wouldn't get any sleep that night.

Sam turned his face away from Dean, squeezed his eyes shut and prayed with all his might: _Dad, if you can hear me, I want to say I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry. _

**_Too little, too late,_** was the cynical voice that broke through the silent plea. **_Better late than never_**, Sam tried to argue.

_You kept me alive all these years, lost everything because of me. Thank you for not hating me. Thank you for looking out for Dean. I shoulda thought of something, I'm so sorry. _

Then, 'cause Sam knew that if there wasn't anyone pleading John's case if his own boys wouldn't (and Dean certainly wasn't going to go there), he turned his attention to that fickle, impersonal man upstairs.

_God, if you even exist, don't you let him suffer down there. He doesn't deserve it, I swear to you, he was the best man that I've known. _

And, because he still believed in angels and more than any angel, in Mary, he prayed:

_Mom please, try and get him out of there. He deserves to be with you, mom. He deserves to get a little rest, now. _

It didn't help, though, 'cause no one knew better than Sam how seldom prayers were really answered. He stared hopelessly out the window until Dean finally gave up with wheel. They two of them drove through the night, barely speaking, each lost in his own world of regret, trapped in his own world of pain.


	6. You Promised

Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me, but in the spirit of sharing... 

Sam's drunken revelation from _Playthings_ rehashed by his pissed off older brother

**YOU PROMISED  
**

Drunk Sam was kind of like six-year-old Sam, what with the "you're bossy" and "Dad SAID!" Dean was starting to get déjà vu… from all the times he had been stuck babysitting while John hunted. It would have been cute if it hadn't been fucking dangerous. Not to mention that freaky shit the bitch had hit him with towards the end of the rant. 

The little (or, monstrously large) brat was good at extracting promises that Dean never wanted to give. Big brother missed a lot of dates that way, standing awkwardly in awards ceremonies or school plays (though he learned the joys of doing smart girls and the power of big brother brownie points, all thanks to his little nerd).

He would do anything to dispel that desperate look in his brother's eyes, that pleading "You promised," but this was fucking unthinkable. Dean didn't have the will to resist those sorrowful, needy eyes. Even if he was ready to disobey his father's dying wish.

Dad's _dead_ and he's an _ass_, Dean thought with bitterness. Why did even muttering the words in his head make him glance around nervously. Dean dismissed his juvenile guilt. Dad had no right to ask this of him. Hell, Dad had_ died _to get out of the responsibility of doing it himself. Did he really think it was okay to just abandon them with this load of crap about destiny? Sam was his _brother_.

_I've been taking care of the kid long enough to know if he's evil_, _and Sammy ain't evil._ Dean's inward rant continued and he glanced over at Sammy, whose long limbs were folded inelegantly into the seat beside him, tensing in some unpleasant dream. Hell, he's the one who keeps me on the straight and narrow, Dean conceded, sweat prickling the back of his neck.

And what the hell was he thinking, drinking on the job like that. Seriously.

Sam couldn't die, Dean promised himself. Dean certainly wasn't going to be the one to pull the trigger.

Sam wasn't evil. He was just a desperate, pushed to the limits, vulnerable, emotionally unstable, psychic, stubborn, selfish little bitch. And Dean was his older brother. So that was that.

"This isn't our normal gig," Dean had said nervously, the first time he and Sam had taken on a demon. This was the big league. And the Winchesters couldn't afford to play at these stakes for long. That was for _damn_ sure. They had already lost two of their own. Maybe three if you count Jess. Maybe a hell of a lot more than that if you were willing to be honest with yourself. _Which I'm not,_ Dean thought stubbornly.

"I wish Dad were here," had been their consensus then, but now Dean wasn't so sure. He didn't know what to think anymore. He had been shocked at his father's revelation and instinctively repulsed. It couldn't be true. Dad was wrong about that. He had to be.

Dean tried to stop thinking, 'cause it was getting overwhelming. He turned on the radio and accidentally woke Sam up. As usual little brother didn't share which face haunted his dreams, made no mention of yellow-eyed demons. His eyes sought Dean's in the dark and Dean immediately regretted not stopping for a hotel room a couple of hours back. Sam didn't complain, though, just did his best to stretch within the confines of the car. His sober smile gave nothing away.

This is no way to live, Dean thought, but he just kept driving.


	7. Heartbroken

Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me, but in the spirit of sharing... 

After_ Heart_

**HEARTBROKEN**

_Just wait here, _Sammy plead, tears dripping down his face.

Dean was doing his best not to feel anything, but that never worked when it came to Sammy. It pissed him off, what the world was doing to his little brother and he had never felt so helpless in his entire life.

_Dammit_, Dean winced, hearing the shot. Then everything went deathly silent. Swallowing hard, he approached the doorway, steeling himself.

Sunlight streamed through the window, mockingly. Despite the yellow glow, the apartment was deathly cold. Sam knelt in the middle of the room, supporting Madison's dead weight easily. Tears continued to run down his face and the sharp smell of blood was unmistakable.

Sam's gun fell silently to the carpet, making the soldier in Dean wince. He knew he should reprimand the kid about that, but Sammy couldn't hear him anyway. The younger man had gathered Madison's body and was cradling it gently to his chest. He was whispering something in a hoarse and desperate voice.

As Dean stepped closer he recognized the Latin benediction. The desperate prayer wrenched his heart.

Réquiem ætérnam dona eis, Dómine / _Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord_  
et lux perpétua lúceat eis/ _and let perpetual light shine upon her_  
Requiéscant in pace. Amen/ _May she rest in peace. Amen _

Familiar words, though Dean never spoke them with the conviction that Sam did. It was that belief which made Sam's voice ring true and powerful, made demons flinch. Jim saw Sam's potential and had been grooming him for the ministry even as a kid. The Pastor saw them all as soldiers of God. John had alway downplayed that aspect, his own feud with the almighty made hunting an act of rebellion rather than obedience. Dean didn't go in for the deep mystical explanations. He used the rituals that worked. Hunting for him was a practical, day to day, down and dirty kinda thing. Hunting was his job, not his destiny. He wasn't idiot enough to accept the shitty hand they had been dealt.

As usual, Sammy's God refrained from comment. _You little idiot, who the hell has been looking out for you except me? _Dean thought at his brother. As if in response, Sam's drowning eyes sought Dean's in the empty room. Yet again it was up to Dean to pick up the pieces. _  
_

Madison's blood was seeping into Sam's clothes, but Sam was still holding her broken body. Gently, the two of them laid the body on the couch. Sam arranged it carefully, brushing the stray locks with broken tenderness. Before Dean could say anything, Sam retrieved the gun, deftly wiped it for fingerprints and used a handkerchief to place it in Madison's cooling hands, letting it fall naturally by her side. Dean hated that his little brother knew what a natural suicide looked like, but didn't have time to dwell. He knew they had a limited opportunity before some other neighbor would be in to check on the gun shot. He started wiping the room, erasing any trace of their presence. Couldn't do anything about the scratch marks in the bedroom and Dean hoped their wasn't too much DNA evidence on the bed but, out of respect, he refrained from bringing it up.

Sam seemed to be going into shock as Dean pushed a clean shirt into his hands and he mechanically shrugged out of his his blood stained clothes, running a self conscious hand over his red eyes and dripping nose as he pulled the proffered T over his body. His ragged breath was calming as Dean bagged the discarded shirt and buried it deep in their luggage.

"You ready?" Dean asked, not wanting Sam to sink into himself. Sam's haunted look didn't disappear, but he sniffed once, then nodded firmly and took his bag from Dean's grip. They were silent as they covertly made their way from the apartment.

Dean sunk gratefully into the driver's seat, shooting Sam a concerned look. Sam caught the look, but turned away as more tears surfaced. He was surprised when Dean's hand briefly gripped his neck. The action reminded Sam of their father. Silent empathy and brief physical contact had been the hallmark of their childhood. Again, Sam struggled to control the tears as Dean pulled into traffic.

"We're going to be okay," Dean said, with a big brother's finality, the kind that had ended Sam's nervous anxiety as a kid. Sam couldn't help but believe him, even though his own heart felt ripped in two, broken beyond repair. He nodded his acceptance through the tears and, to avoid having to talk any more about it, chose one of Dean's tapes and slipped it in, turning up the volume to drown out his cruel self-recrimination. He felt his heartbeat adapt to the crushing bass, feeling wretchedly alive.


	8. Three Strikes and You're Out

Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me, but in the spirit of sharing...

_Between __All Hell Breaks Loose, Part I and II  
_

**THREE STRIKES AND YOU'RE OUT  
**

Dean held Sammy's dead weight. The only thing he knew was the warm wetness of Sammy's blood trickling sticky through his fingers and the dying breath that stilled against his face.

"Sammy!" He cried again like an incantation, as if saying it would bring back the brother that had left him.

Bobby was saying something, but Dean couldn't hear it. They picked up Sam's lifeless body and carried it to the car. Dean's face was wet with tears, but he never paused, climbing into the back, cradling his brother's lolling head. Bobby again said something, but Dean just stared at him, uncomprehending.

"KEYS, DEAN!" Bobby yelled, unnerved by the boy's unresponsiveness.

Dean swallowed thickly before he fumbled for the Impala's keys and threw them to Bobby.

"H-hospital, Bobby," Dean half asked, half pled. They both knew it was too late for that.

"He's gone, Dean." Bobby tried.

"No. Don't." Dean held onto the body, but he couldn't deny the stillness. He was crying freely. "Please," he pled "Please." Bobby wondered who the boy was asking. No one answered.

Bobby took Dean to the only place he knew to take him. The only way to get Dean inside the small cabin was to heave the body in too. Bobby felt the pit in his stomach deepen as he caught the older Winchester's eyes. Dean was lost in there and Bobby didn't know a damn thing he could do to bring him back. He was slipping away.

The world was about to collapse into Hell and Bobby didn't have time to mourn for the little boy whose eyes had sparkled intelligently, who had romped with his pups and asked him questions about exorcism rituals. That boy was gone and so was his daddy, leaving only Dean, haunted by promises made and broken.

They laid Sam's body out on the cot in the back. Bobby moved to cover the face of death with a white sheet, but Dean caught his arm. "Please, Bobby," was all he said and Bobby bowed to the desperation in Dean's voice.

All night Dean sat with his grief, eyes riveted on this brother's still features, seeing not the pale cheeks and long, limp hair or the shadow of whiskers that Sam never let grow.

_Dean smells smoke and holds Sammy's squirming, heavy weight. Dad shouts, Mom burns and Sammy clings to him as they run. _

_He feels small arms around his neck, smells Sammy's hair after a bath, the cleanest thing his screwed up life. _

_He tumbles gently with the giggling toddler, wrestling on dirty hotel room rugs till Dad yells for quiet. _

_He listens to Sammy's soft breath in the dark, waiting for the Impala's familiar rumble to signal the end of his watch. _

_He sees Sam chewing concertedly on his bottom lip, holding his first gun with both hands. Sam nearly cries at the sound and the kick. He grins in relief, though, looking to Dean for approval, the first time he hits his target square. _

_Dean holds Sam's sticky hand as they walk the half mile home from kindergarten. Sam's nearly empty backpack thumps rhythmically. He trots beside Dean, filled with questions. _

_Dean takes advantage of the warm body curled up in front of him, appropriating Sammy's heat as he wakes up early in the frigid mountain cabin, smelling coffee brewing on the hearth and hearing the tramp of his father's heavy boots. _

_Dean's fist crushes painfully into the bully's face. He sees red. _Nobody_ messes with his little brother. _

_"It's gonna be okay, Sammy," he promises. Somehow they make it through. "I'm not gonna let anything bad happen to you." _

_Dean smells blood and catches Sam's panicked eyes as he floors it to the hospital. _

_Dean hears the door slam and his fear is palpable. He watches his brother walk away. He picks up the pieces of his father, wondering if he'll ever see his Sammy again. _

_He watches Dad watching Sammy. The tense jaw jumps as Sam leaves class amid a group of students who can't protect him. Dean's heart aches to hear that easy laugh through the Impala's open window. But they always end up driving away. _

_Sammy's phone rings and rings, but he doesn't pick up. The call is routed to voicemail. "You've reached Sam Winchester..." It's professional and fakey, but it's his baby brother's voice. At least he knows Sam's okay. He doesn't leave a message. _

_There is a surge of recognition as Sammy engages him in the dark apartment. Three years, and finally Dean knows himself again, with his little brother there to define him. He can't help grinning like an idiot. _

_He barely recognizes the man who grieves hard for the blond in the Smirf t-shirt, can't sleep when Sammy's eyes are wide and glistening in the darkness. He lays awake at night, heart beating to Sam's shallow breaths._

_Adrenaline pumps through his veins, he's straining with the knife that's pinning him to the friggin' barn, when he hears the gun go off, sees the flash and Sammy's white grin is telling him that the S.O.B. is down for the count. Sammy's all grown up, Dean grins. He jimmies the knife free and taking his little brother's hand up._

_He's pinned to the wall while he's family is being tortured. He fights it, screaming. Sam's holding a gun to the demon, to John. "Sam, no." he begs. He knows if Sam pulls the trigger, it'll destroy them all._

_His body's broken, but he holds on. He can't leave them. They are all he's got. _

_Dean's face is hot from the pyre. His fathers parting words echo over the crackling of timber and night sounds of the familiar forest. Sam, his impossible little brother, stands straight beside him, tears streaming down his face. Dean's never felt this close to anyone, yet feels terribly alone._

_He sends Sam into the diner for pie... _

_He sends Sam into the diner for pie... smells sulfur and freshly spilt blood. Not Sammy's. Please not Sammy's._

_The last thing he says is Dean's name. Dean calls back, but his relieved smile dies. "Sammy watch out!" His brother falls forward. There's blood on Dean's hands and Sam's gone... he's just _gone_.  
_  
Dean doesn't want to wake up in a world with no little brother, no Sammy. So he doesn't sleep. He just sits there, remembering and taking long pulls from the liquor bottles he found in the dusty cupboard beneath the kitchen sink while Bobby was out getting supplies. The drink makes him feel not himself, which is good because Dean Winchester is not a good thing to be... and hasn't been for a long while, he realizes.

"You've gotta save him," Dad had said. "You've gotta save Sammy or you have to kill him. You might have to kill him, Dean."

But Dean hadn't done either one. He had just stood there while Sam got stabbed in the back.

He should have gotten there sooner, faster. _I'm not gonna let anything bad happen to you. _

He should've shot that son of a bitch where he stood. _Nobody messes with my brother. _

He had just one job, just one more chance. But three strikes and you're out. And Dean's out. He's done. It's too fucking hard. Tears flood his vision. He can't even see, what the hell good would he be in this fight?

What the hell good was he to anyone, now?


End file.
